


and then the world will turn to ash

by endlessnighttimesky



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blood, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staying alive in a mental hospital is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and then the world will turn to ash

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU START READING THE STORY (AND AVOID MASSIVE CONFUSION):**
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so I thought I'd clear up some things, because I'll admit it; this story is confusing. It does make sense in my head (somehow), and I'll try my best at explaining what going on in there. (I will explain Gerard's name in this note, and then I'll explain the ending in the note at the end, since otherwise I would spoil it.)
> 
> So, regarding Gerard's name: Gerard is _Gerard_ , as in Gerard Way. Though his original name is Michael in this story, he isn't _Mikey_. Michael is only the name Gerard's parents gave him, but he doesn't answer to it or view it as his real name.
> 
> But then, why did I chose Michael as his original name? Well, this story actually started out as a poem, where Frank's character is an unnamed girl and she names Gerard's character Oliver, although his actual name (which he doesn't respond to) is Christopher. But when I made this into a fanfiction, I felt weird about associating Gerard with a completely random name, so I chose Michael; because of Mikey, obviously. And since I felt I had to explain Gerard's parents naming him Michael in this story, I have an explanation for this: Gerard's parents doesn't acknowledge him as their son anymore. The moment they left him at Greystone, they decided to pretend as if he didn't exsist, and never has. When they then have another son, they decide to start all over again, pretending you can have a second chance at raising a child, and so they name their second son Michael too, and it's this boy who is the actual Mikey Way. So, in conclusion, if anyone should be in a mental hospital, it's Gerard's parents, as they apparently seem to think it's completely okay to just disown your firstborn son and pretend he never existed, only to have another one and give him the same name, to replace their first child.
> 
> WOW. OKAY. That's was one hell of an author's note. But I hope that I've cleared some things up, despite not knowing if anything of the above makes sense at all. I did my best at explaining, anyway, and I promise, IT DOES MAKE SENSE IN MY HEAD. (Then again, my head isn't the most logical place...)

Screams.

That’s the first thing Frank notices as he’s hauled through the doors of Greystone Psychiatric Hospital. The screams.

He can’t help but briefly wonder whether the person ( _patient, we’re all just patients_ ) screaming is doing it out of to physical or psychological pain.

He himself is currently doing it due to both.

”Let me go!” he shouts at one of the nurses holding him down. He kicks out his leg, hitting him on the hip, but the nurse doesn’t give in, just tightens his grasp around Frank’s upper arm.

”Let me go!” he cries again, digging his nails into the bare arm of another nurse, drawing blood. ”Release me, you stupid fuckers!” Frank sinks his teeth into the flesh of the nurse to his left, who finally pulls away, clutching his shoulder and staring as the blood soaks through his white scrubs. Frank grins like a maniac and the nurse screams. He drags his tongue over his teeth, tasting blood.

He doesn’t get to bask in the glory for very long though, because one of the female nurses, who’s standing a few feet away ( _fucking right, watch out or I’ll fucking bite you too_ ), is suddenly screaming for someone to go get a shot.

Frank feels a sharp pain in his abdomen, and he kicks out instinctively, but the sedative is already rushing through his veins, and then he’s out like a light. The ward goes quiet.

 

§ § § 

”Fuck.” Frank says his favorite word for what must be the thousandth time.

”Fuck.” One thousand and one.

”Fuck.” One thousand and two.

”Fuck.” One thousand and three.

”Fuck.” One thousand and four.

” _Fuck_.” One thousand and five.

”You swear a lot.”

Frank sits straight up in his bed, flinching as he opens his eyes and is hit by the bright light coming through the window. He lifts his hand to shield his eyes, and when he manages to focus, he sees a pale figure sitting on other bed, legs crossed, black hair falling in his eyes. He has a thoughtful look on his face, and his nose is scrunched up a little, as if he’s actually bothered by Frank’s excessive use of expletives.

”Who are you?” Frank asks, shifting on his bed so his feet are planted on the dirty linoleum, hands braced on the edge of the hard mattress.

”I don’t know,” the boy replies matter-of-factly, as if his identity doesn’t matter to him.

”What do you mean  _you don’t know_?” Frank asks. This might be a mental hospital, but he is pretty sure everybody here at least remembers his or her own name.

”I don’t remember.” Well, maybe not everybody then.

Frank lies back down on his bed and stares at the milky ceiling for a while, before he speaks again. ”You don’t remember your own name?”

In the corner of his eyes, Frank can see the boy shrugging. ”I don’t think I was ever given one.”

”Everyone has a name,” Frank insists.

”Maybe,” the boy says. ”I just don’t know mine.”

Frank sighs and sits up again, watching his feet contrast against the grey floor. When he lifts his head, a large pair of hazel eyes meets him, staring. It’s a little intimidating, Frank has to admit that, but he doesn’t look away, just tips his head to the side, thinking.

”You… You’re Gerard.” Frank says eventually. He doesn’t know why he picks that name; it’s isn’t even the first one that pops into his head. But it’s the first one he can think of that fits, and why it does, he doesn’t know either.

”I am?” The boy looks a little confused, but not reluctant, so Frank can’t stop himself from insisting.

”Yes,” Frank says, nodding. ”Gerard. Your name’s Gerard.”

”Gerard,” the boy says. It sounds good; it feels right on his tongue. ”Gerard.  _Gerard_.”

It’s perfect.

 

§ § §

”This is disgusting,” Frank says after he gets the first taste of the food they serve at the hospital. He pushes the bowl away, and it bumps against one of it’s many siblings, all of which contain the same colorless slime. Frank props his elbows on the table, and is about to say something a little more expressive about the food, when he hears a loud crackle from the speakers.

A high-pitched voice announces what everyone already knows; they’ve all been staring at the clock for minutes. ”Medicine time!”

The sound of shuffling, slipper-clad feet replaces the voice, and everybody lines up in front of the two nurses. One is holding a tray with thirty glasses of water, the other his holding a tray with small plastic cups. Frank sighs and rolls his eyes at the woman in between, the one whose voice was just blasted through the common room. She’s cheerily calling out names, and one by one they all step forward, bringing the cup to their lips and then the glass, obediently until there’s only one left.

Frank does the same, of course, but once the nurses have retreated to the office and Frank is back in his room, he spits onto the floor, mashing the pills under the sole of his slipper. They blend in well with the color of the floor.

”You can’t do that,” Gerard says, but it’s more a statement than a threat, so Frank doesn’t worry, just smiles at him.

”I just did, didn’t I?”

 

§ § § 

Gerard has evolved into something. Of what, Frank isn’t quite sure. He’s far from a leader. Maybe he’s a follower.

”You scare the living shit out of me.” Or perhaps not.

Frank grins; apparently his cursing is rubbing off. Maybe he could learn Gerard some of the Italian curses Frank’s grandfather taught him.

Anyway, that’s not the point here. The point is that Frank isn’t going to lie to Gerard, not now, not ever, and so he replies, ”It’s mutual,” because it’s the truth. Gerard’s obedience is the most frightening this Frank has ever witnessed, just as Frank’s anarchy is close to cause Gerard nightmares.

”You have to learn though, eventually,” Frank says. He doesn’t know if he’s speaking to himself or Gerard. He doesn’t think it matters.

 

§ § §

When Frank wakes up the next morning, he is blinded again, but not by the sunlight. Well, of course it’s the sunlight, but it’s reflecting off something, and that reflection just happens to hit Frank right in the eye.

He kicks off his sheets and sits up, rubbing his hand over his face before his eyes focuses on Gerard, and more specifically, his clenched fist.

”What’s that?” Frank asks.

Gerard doesn’t answer, but he opens his hand, revealing a razor blade. It glistens in the light pouring through the window, blinding Frank as Gerard turns it over in his palm.

”Where did you get that?” Frank wonders.

Gerard shrugs, much like when Frank asked his name, but there’s something different in his eyes, and Frank feels hopeful. Maybe this time Gerard will give him an answer. ”I’ve had them for years.”

Well, compared to yesterday, it’s progress. But still… Years? ”How long have you been here?”

”I don’t know,” Gerard says.

Frank sighs. ”And I thought we’d made progress.”

 

§ § §

Frank is bored out of his skull. There’s nothing to do in his room, and the nurses never lets him watch anything fun on the TV in the common room. And without the TV to distract him, he just can’t stand the noise. The screams, the mumbles, the frantic ramblings of the other patients; he can’t deal with them, can’t make himself ignore them.

And so decides to harass the nurse passing his door instead.

”Hey!” he shouts.

The nurse approaches the doorway, face weary. ”Yes?”

”I was just wondering,” Frank says, ”how long has he been here?” He nods towards Gerard’s sleeping form on the bed across the room.

The nurse sighs loudly, and Frank thinks that for a moment he can see affection in her face, although the sadness doesn’t go away. ”Since he was born,” she replies, and as she turns to leave, Frank calls out again.

”Wait!”

She rolls her eyes tiredly, spitting out, ”What?”

”What’s his name?” Frank asks, and his genuine curiosity must show in his expression, because when the nurse sighs, it’s not as loud.

”Michael.”

Frank turns on his bed, towards Gerard ( _or is it Michael?_ ). He can distantly hear the nurse walking away; he isn’t really paying attention, as all his focus is on Gerard now.

”Michael?” Frank asks. He knows Gerard is awake, because although he’s only been here a day, he knows how Gerard’s breathing differs between consciousness and sleep.

No response. Perhaps he didn’t hear.

”Michael?” Frank tries again, a little louder; there’s no chance he didn’t hear.

Frank bites his lip, still not used to how it feels now that his lip ring is out. ”Gerard?”

Warm, hazel eyes meet Frank’s immediately. Greasy, raven strands of hair shift over pale skin as Gerard nods questioningly.

Frank underestimated him; they’ve definitely made progress.

 

§ § §

Frank wakes up to blood. Blood everywhere.

It’s on the walls;  _I love you._

On the floor;  _I love you._

The ceiling ( _how does anyone even reach up there?)_ ;  _I love you._

Even the bed sheets are covered with it, spelling out the same three words as every other surface of the room.

The same nurse Frank talked to yesterday conveniently passes his door.

”Hey!”

She turns around, sighing. Frank wonders if that’s all they do here. ”What?”

Frank gestures around the room. ”I think I deserve an explanation.”

”Michael did it. He’s been put into isolation. You’ll get a new room soon.”

Frank retreats to his bed without a word. The nurse disappears into the hallway.

Ripping the sheets of the bed, Frank screams, shouting his favorite word over and over again. It numbs the burn in his chest, but doesn’t put out the fire.

He lies down on the bare mattress. The blood has gone through the sheets, so it’s still red, but he couldn’t care less. He curls up in the corner, closing his eyes tight as if that will make it all go away ( _it doesn’t belong here, it doesn’t belong here, it doesn’t belong here_ ).

 

§ § §

Frank is transferred to another room, but he barely notices. They’re all the same.

He finds himself missing the blood, the words. The person who wrote them ( _where are you?_ ).

One thing is different in this room though, apart from the blood. The bed on the left side – seen from the door, because otherwise it’s to Frank’s right – is empty.

He gets up from his own bed and buries himself in the sheets of the other, watching the room from the other side. He stares at his own bed ( _old bed_ ) for a while, before his eyelids start drooping, and he falls asleep in imagined warmth.

 

§ § §

He can’t get the words out of his mind. They haunt him at night, flashing red inside his head. It’s not long before the manifest themselves in the real world too, on the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The sheets, a second time.

”He didn’t know my name,” Frank mumbles to himself, voice muffled by the sheet ( _the clean, white sheet, without any blood, without any words, without him_ ) he’s got pressed to his mouth. ”How unfair. I forced a name onto him, and I didn’t even give him my own.”

He wonders where Gerard is, but finds thinking about it worthless, as he barely knows where he is himself. He thinks he should probably focus on something else, should try to forget. It’s futile though, because the words ( _his words, his own words_ ) are engraved on the inside of his skull, where not even the most persistent waves can reach.

Frank never comes to terms with the fact that he’ll never be able to forget, but eventually accepts it. What else can he do?

 

§ § §

A key turns in a lock. The nurse opens the door to Frank’s room.

”Dinner time,” she says with her perpetually tired expression.

Frank’s face is a mirror of hers as he walks through the corridor, completely lacking any of the enthusiasm he somehow managed to hold onto when he was brought here. The day the court had delivered his sentence, he’d told himself that no matter what, he wouldn’t let Greystone break him. Now it’s just another of the thousand promises he couldn’t keep.

At least that’s what he thinks until he sees a familiar figure perched on the couch in the common room. Gerard is watching the ocean through the large windows, the waves hitting the shore over and over, endlessly.

Frank can feel a strange feeling rise in his chest. It’s a warm, comfortable feeling, something Frank never wants to be without ever again. He doesn’t let it show though, because as he said, he never wants to be without it.

Instead he walks silently through the room, until he is close enough to put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder.

Gerard flinches, snapping his head around. Frank pulls away his hand instinctively, but then Gerard’s lips curl into a smile, and all of a sudden Frank is enveloped by his arms. Gerard hugs him tight, burying his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, breathing hot on his skin.

Frank freezes at first, unfamiliar to the proximity, but then he buries his nose in Gerard’s hair, pulling him even closer. He can’t help but wonder why no one separates them, but is soon distracted by tears running down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. They aren’t his.

”Gerard?” Frank asks carefully.

”Yes?” Gerard replies, voice thick as he cries silently.

”Never do that again,” Frank says softly. He can’t force himself to sound stern, but it probably doesn’t matter, as he is rather sure Gerard won’t ever do anything that can get them separated again.

”I love you, you know,” Gerard says, as if it’s no big deal.

Frank decides to ignore it for now, unsure if he can reply without breaking into tears. ”Promise me,” he says instead.

”I promise,” Gerard says, seemingly unfazed by Frank neglecting his declaration of love.

”Thank you.”

 

§ § § 

Days pass, but no one ever bothers with transporting Frank back to his old room ( _maybe they never got the blood off the walls_ ).

 

§ § §

Every single day, Frank asks the nurse when he can see Michael again. He uses Gerard’s old name to please her, hoping that it will increase the chance of him getting what he wants.

”When he gets out of isolation,” the nurse answers, just as every other time Frank has asked.

Frank gets equally frustrated every time; the answer isn’t enough. He needs a time, a date, something more than what the nurse is willing to give him. They could release Gerard tomorrow, just as they could do it next year.

So Frank asks again, this time more specific. ”And when is that?” He needs to see Gerard _now_.

”When his mental state is stable,” the nurse says, as if Frank didn’t already know ( _I fucking know that you fucking imbecile, you know that’s not what I meant_ ).

But today Frank comes up with a new question, one he hasn’t dared to ask before. ”Has there been any progress?”

There must’ve been. Last night, in the common room… Gerard seemed fine, perfectly okay, except for the crying. But that had nothing with his mental state to do, had it? Frank isn’t completely sure, only knows what he hopes the answer will be.

The nurse sighs in that way she always does. Frank thinks it means that she wants to tell him the truth, put him out of his misery, but she’s restricted by the law, and thus can’t do anything. ”That’s confidential information.”

Frank feels his heart clench, as it always does when he loses hope.

 

§ § §

Frank decides to make good use of the time they have together, and so whenever Gerard’s in the common room, Frank is right beside him, shoulder to shoulder. The sit curled up on the couch, which they’ve pushed so that the front of it is touching the wall, so that they can be as close to the ocean as possible.

The sun is setting, and Gerard intently watches it all happen, eyes directed forward. Frank’s gaze breaks though, when Gerard takes his hand, wrapping his lean fingers around Frank’s own. Their wrists contrast; Gerard’s is clad in white gauze, and even without it, he would be much paler than Frank.

Frank looks at their clasped hands some more. He gives Gerard’s fingers a comforting squeeze before he looks up at the ocean again, at the sunset, reveling in the warmth of Gerard’s shoulder against his. He’ll take what he can get.

 

§ § § 

Frank thinks he should’ve gotten used to the screams by now. But his mind refuses to accept them, while simultaneously letting them invade his skull. He fights, and he will do so until the end of time, as long as it grants him some sort of peace.

Right now he’s got his palms pressed against his ears and his face buried in his pillow. He’s lying curled up on what should be Gerard’s bed ( _if they ever let him out, let him come back, back to me_ ).

Hopefully they will, someday.

 

§ § §

They haven’t said a word to each other since Frank made Gerard promise he wouldn’t do anything stupid again, but yet a day where they haven’t touched hasn’t passed either.

Frank doesn’t enjoy breaking the silence; somehow, it’s more comforting than words could ever be. But it’s time.

”Hey, Gerard?”

Gerard doesn’t turn to look at him, just keeps gazing at the ocean ( _baby steps, one thing at a time_ ). ”Mm.”

”Do you know when they’ll let you move back to your old room?” Frank asks, because if anyone knows something about Gerard’s mental state, it’s Gerard himself.

”To our room?”

Frank’s breath hitches with suppressed tears as he squeezes Gerard’s hand. ”Yeah, to our room.”

”I don’t really know,” Gerard says, and it’s obvious from his voice that he wishes he could tell Frank, wishes he had something to tell. But no, the nurses or doctors won’t tell him anything, just walks him quietly to his room every night, locking the door once he’s inside. They never say anything.

Frank doesn’t know this though, and Gerard doesn’t plan to tell him. No need to make him worry more thank necessary.

”You think it’ll be soon?” Frank wonders in his ignorance.

Gerard sighs and moves his hand so that his and Frank’s finger intertwine. ”I hope so.”

 

§ § §

It’s late, the sky is black outside his window, and Frank is hidden beneath the covers of the left bed. He hasn’t slept properly for days, hasn’t been able to. He finds himself listening to the sounds coming from the corridor, trying to decide if it’s time, if he’ll ever come back.

The familiar sound of slippers against linoleum echoes in the hallway, but it’s probably just the nurse, so he doesn’t let himself hope. Instead he just curls up, pulling the sheets over his head.

But then the door opens, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t know who he wants it to be. He peeks over the edge of the covers, only to find a short figure carrying a tray. A nurse.

Frank finds himself being let down, as usual. He’s getting tired of it.

 

§ § §

Two nurses transport Frank to the office the next day. He’s told to wait in a chair until the secretary calls him. He can’t muster up the energy to disobey them.

”Mr. Iero,” a woman calls after a few minutes. Frank doesn’t even look at her, just follows her into the office.

The head of the ward is a robust man, probably in his fifties, with coarse, black hair and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Frank should know his name, but can’t remember it, so he settles for picking the dirt out from under his fingernails until the doctor asks his a question.

”Are you taking your pills?”

Frank looks up, answering, ”Yes,” without thinking twice, or even once.

”Are you lying?” the doctor asks. He’s staring at Frank with that gaze that makes you want to fall through a hole in the floor.

Frank stays quiet, figuring that his silence has already told the truth.

”Why won’t you take them?” the doctor wonders next.

The question makes Frank laugh; hard, bitter. He finally looks up at the doctor, glaring. ”Because I know what they do.”

Apparently the man is oblivious, or he wants to pretend he is, because he says, ”And what is that?”

Frank wants to punch him in the face, but restrains himself. He isn’t going to diminish his chance to share a room with Gerard if he can stop it. Either way, he can’t help but laugh again, even harder, more bitter. He glares at the doctor again. ”They kill you.”

”Isn’t it rather obvious that none of our patients are dead? It would be a lot smellier if they were.”

Frank doesn’t appreciate the doctor’s attempt at making a joke. If that’s what it was; he could be dead serious for all Frank knows, if you pardon the pun.

”You know very well what I mean, Doctor,” Frank says.

The doctor shifts in his chair, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the desk. It’s probably meant to be intimidating, but last time something scared Frank was years ago. Even longer since someone scared him. ”Perhaps I do. But that is no excuse.”

”No, it’s not,” Frank admits. ”But if you want to kill me, then please, give me a life to live first.”

The doctor leans back again, obviously realizing that there is no frightening this boy. ”And what do your consider life?” he asks. ”I’ve learned that the definition of the word differs between people.

”It most certainly does,” Frank says. ”But then allow me to give you my definition.”

”Which is?”

”Information.”

”Information?”

Frank leans forward, taking on the doctor’s previous role of trying to be intimidating. The difference is that he succeeds. ” _Information_.”

”Would you like to specify?” the doctor says, gesturing with his hand a  _go on_  motion.

”I’m glad you asked,” Frank smirks, because why not? He might as well play it up while he’s got the chance. ”I want information. No, actually, that’s not the right word. I  _need_  it. To live.” He leans back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. ”Would you enjoy denying someone of their life source, Doctor?”

”I certainly would not,” the doctor replies.

”Then give me this tiny piece of information, and I can continue living my life until it kills me.”

”Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.” Is that… is that fear on the doctor’s face? In his eyes? Oh, yes, it is.

”Is that all you want?” the doctor asks. ”To share a room with Michael?”

Frank averts his gaze, suddenly self-conscious about his attachment to Gerard ( _not Michael, you stupid fucker_ ). ”Yes,” he mumbles, silently wondering if he should tell the doctor about Gerard’s new name ( _his real name_ ), but decides not to. It shall be their little secret.

”You can’t do that.”

Frank doesn’t even get angry, doesn’t glare or try to be intimidating. He just asks, ”Why?”

”Because he’s not out of isolation.”

Although Frank already knows the answer to his next question, just as he did to the previous one, he goes on. ”Why?”

”Because his mental state is not stable.”

”Why?”

”That’s confidential information.”

Someone should give Frank a prize for managing to restrain himself. He’s never wanted to seriously hurt someone as much as he does now.

 

§ § §

Frank is back in his room by the time it all washes over him. He feels helpless, hopeless, worthless ( _am I not here to be treated? am I not here to get better?_ ).

That’s when he realizes he’s already better; he’s better than them.

He wonders if he would ever do again what he did to make himself end up here. Probably not for the same reason. But he’d do it for another one; he is convinced of it.

 

§ § § 

As his solitude stretches out, Frank slowly become more and more morbid ( _what’s the point of life if we all end up dead anyway?_ ).

The only light in his otherwise dark days is mealtime. It’s funny, how his least favorite thing to do at Greystone becomes number one on the list, just like that.

It’s not like it’s illogical though; it’s during dinner that he gets to see Gerard, touch him, and talk to him, occasionally. But mostly they don’t bother with conversation. They just eat their meals, take their pills, then goes to sit by the window. They sit there every night, facing the setting sun, fingers intertwined.

The nurses keep calling Gerard by his old name. ”Michael!” they yell, but Gerard never answers, doesn’t even glance at them. Oblivious to their comments, he sits there, hand in hand with his savior.

Yes, that is what Gerard calls him, because Frank still hasn’t told him his name. And what does it matter, anyway? It’s still the truth.

 

§ § § 

”I’m not completely stupid, you know.” Gerard doesn’t know why he says it, why he says anything at all. Maybe he’s tired of the silence.

”I know that,” Frank replies nevertheless. ”I don’t like stupid people.”

Gerard turns to him, eyes not as wide as he feels they should be, but the surprise in them is still obvious. ”Do you like me?” Could it be true?

Frank doesn’t give him as much as a glance, but Gerard doesn’t mind. He still has so much more than he deserves.

”Yes,” Frank says. It’s a simple word, only one syllable, three tiny letters, but it could mean the difference between life and death.

Then, after a few more minutes of the silence they have gotten so used to, Frank turns towards Gerard, a question on his lips, as he so often finds himself. ”Have you really been here since you were born?”

Gerard shakes his head. ”Not technically. I mean, I wasn’t born here, but I think my parents left me here somewhere around my second birthday. I didn’t speak - well, I spoke alright, just not to people. I preferred being alone. They found it strange, which it probably was, so they took me here. At first it was just for therapy, but the doctors thought it better that I stayed here, so they could watch over me through the cameras. They installed microphones in my room, so they could hear it if I talked. Which I did, just like any other kid. They called my parents, to say that there probably wasn’t anything wrong with me, that I just needed more time. That’s something my parents never had though; time. No one ever answered the phone, so they sent a nurse to the house. It was empty; they’d moved. They left me here.”

Frank doesn’t know what to say to that ( _is there even anything to say?_ ). There probably isn’t, so he keeps asking questions; he has so many. ”How’s your education been here?”

”Very good, actually,” Gerard says. ”Better than I expected. Though, I don’t really have anything to compare to. But we studied math, science, civics, health, language… Even art and music.”

Grinning widely, Frank asks, ”Did you have biology? You know, birds and bees?”

Gerard’s grin is even wider. ”Didn’t I tell you I’m not stupid? Of course we did. This isn’t a Catholic institution.”

Frank laughs loudly, earning a few irritated glances from the nurses, but he couldn’t care less. Instead he rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder, grips tight around his hand, and keeps watching the sunset.

 

§ § §

Gerard was in solitary confinement again, and so was Frank ( _because that’s what it feels like_ ), until a few moments ago.

A key turns in the lock, as so many times before, but this time the heavy door holds a surprise. It has piercing hazel eyes, ruffled black hair, and a smile like no other.

Frank keeps his joy hidden until the nurse disappears, but once the door closes behind her, he breaks out of the milky prison that is his bed, seeking comfort in Gerard’s arms, which are promptly wrapped around him. It’s not long before Gerard’s cold hands make their way to Frank’s face, stroking away stray strands of hair and caressing his cheeks.

”I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, and I’ll say it a thousand times more if I need to,” Gerard mumbles before he pushes Frank back to allow his gaze to pierce his. ”I love you.”

 

§ § §

Their lips crash together and that’s really all there is to it. 

 

§ § § 

Frank wakes up slowly, unlike his other mornings, when he is startled away by his own lack of breathing after terrible nightmares. But today he takes his time, not opening his eyes immediately. Instead he just lets himself feel everything around him, letting the sensations crowd his mind without any visual input.

He brings his hand to travel over the Gerard’s bare back at his side. How they both fit in a single bed he’ll never know, but he doesn’t care. He focuses on painting random patterns across Gerard’s pale skin instead, dragging a fingertip between birthmarks.

Gerard doesn’t wake up, and Frank doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t mind, either. Gerard’s calm breathing is comforting, he realizes. Finally, no more silence.

Frank cracks one eye open, just for a second as he looks up at the corner of the room. There’s no camera. His chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore.

”Gerard?” he mumbles.

He receives a tired moan as Gerard turns around, facing Frank. Only mere seconds pass before his lips are on Frank’s again.

 

§ § § 

Frank finds himself wondering if he deserves all of this, if he deserves Gerard. Nobody ever answers him.

He knows that in all pain lies beauty, but in all beauty lies pain, and thus he can’t make himself believe that his happiness is everlasting. Because it’s nothing else but a balancing act, on the blade of a knife; on one side life, the other death. Beauty or pain, joy or misery.

He believes in karma, but still has a hard time wrapping his mind around it all. What has he ever done to deserve this happiness?

But all questions he might’ve ever had are deleted, his mind emptying as nimble fingers graze his skin. He didn’t believe, not until last night, but people convert all the time, don’t they?

”I see they taught you about love here, then?” he says.

Gerard is silent, gives Frank nothing but his hazel eyes.

”Gerard?”

His eyes continue to pierce Frank’s skin, and as Gerard speaks, Frank’s soul. ”Love isn’t taught. You can’t teach someone how to love, like math or grammar. There are no rules, no right or wrong. Love is love. You can’t study, teach, or learn it. All you can do is experience it.”

 

§ § §

For days, that’s all they do. They experience, not only love, but each other’s minds and bodies. Weeks pass, and they never stop experiencing.

No one notices, so what harm can it do? They take precautions either way, repeating them, over and over again, until they’re both tired of what soon becomes a routine.

Before, when it was new, it had been exciting. Now it’s just a schedule to live after, a dull procedure they are forced to go through. All is for the façade.

But in the solitude of their room, they continue to experience. They learn, study, and teach, despite Gerard once saying it’s impossible. They do it for hours.

A new pile of pills forms beneath their beds, which are now pushed together, acting as a cotton haven amidst the concrete. They decide sleeping is for the weak, for the ones without experiencing to do. And with being so busy while the stars are out, everything happening beneath the light of the sun becomes even more tedious.

Fatigue holds a grip around them as long as the moon is invisible. It raises questions among the nurses, and new medications are ordained. Weaker, because pills solve everything, right?

Interesting fact: they don’t. And as if nothing has ever changed, their nocturnal escapades continue, the nurses innocently unknowing of what occurs in room 303 every night.

 

§ § §

With experience comes knowledge, Frank soon finds out, but since their roles are somewhat reversed, compared to the first time they met, he has to ask, as usual. ”Will I ever have enough experience? Enough knowledge?”

Gerard gives him an amused look, and Frank stares at his hands, feeling dumb. Despite them being the same age; or so Frank thinks they are, at least ( _I don’t really remember being born_ ). Either way, Gerard always feels so much older. Maybe it’s this place ( _this prison_ ). It ages people it seems; he’s only spent a few weeks here, but it already feels like years. Decades, even.

”Don’t laugh at me,” Frank says.

”I’m not laughing,” Gerard says, but they both know it’s a lie. ”I’m just… mildly amused.”

Frank grimaces; he hates feeling stupid. ”What’s so funny then?”

Suddenly, Gerard’s face takes on a look of seriousness, and as so many other times, when he speaks, Frank is captivated. ”Knowledge is infinite, and so is love. It has no beginning, and thus no end. People change, all the time, every second. Cells die and are replaced, blood makes its way through our bodies. We change, and so does knowledge. And since knowledge is infinite, then so are we.”

Frank bites his lip, thinking. ”You mean we’ll have to do this…” He gestures between their naked bodies, and with mock fatigue says, ”Forever?”

Gerard smiles. ”Yes. We’ll do it forever, into infinity, and then a little more.”

 

§ § § 

Frank is called to the office again.

He is greeted by a smile from the doctor. ”Good day, Mr. Iero.”

”It would be better if I didn’t have to spend it in here,” Frank scowls, slumping into the chair in front of the desk.

”I’ll be quick about it, then.”

”Please.”

The doctor leans back in his chair, face becoming serious. ”How’s Michael progressing?”

Frank raises a doubtful eyebrow. ”Shouldn’t you be the one to answer that question? You’re the one with the medical exam, after all.”

The doctor nods, because sure, that’s true, but his title doesn’t matter if his patients don’t care about it. ”But you’re the one actually evaluating him. Or  _experiencing_ , if you prefer that word.”

Frank can’t let his façade crack now; they’ve come too far. ”Touché.”

”And I guess you’d prefer it if I call him Gerard?”

Frank shrugs, trying to hide the fact that internally, he’s freaking out ( _how does he know all of this?_ ). ”I don’t care what you call him. I just know that he prefers to be called Gerard. I mean, how would you like being called Robert, for example?”

”I would hate it, since it’s not my name.”

Frank grins lazily. ”So you see my point?”

The doctor rolls his eyes. ”Okay, yes, I see your point. But that doesn’t take away the fact that his parents named him Michael.”

”He doesn’t know his parents,” Frank replies quickly, voice venomous. ”He hasn’t got a single memory of them, because they _left him here._ ” Again, Frank is overwhelmed by the need of injuring someone, but he suppresses it and goes on. ”But me… He remembers me. He knows me.”

”He loves you,” the doctor supplies.

Frank is quiet.

”He’s made more progress during the weeks you’ve been here than during all the years he’s spent here,” the doctor says. ”You should be proud of that.”

Frank shakes his head; the doctor is wrong. ”Why? There’s nothing to be proud of. All I did was treat him like a human. I gave him comfort, something he’s been deprived of all his life. It’s something everyone deserves. Especially him.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow. ”You don’t think we treat him like a human?”

Frank snorts. ”You most certainly don’t treat him like a human. You treat us all like patients, lab rats, people to perform experiments on. ’Let’s stuff them full of pills, see what happens. Let’s give them shots, see what happens. Let’s perform surgery on them, see what happens.’ You know, sometimes what you expect doesn’t happen. That’s where you lose your humanity.”

”You mean mistakes are inhuman?”

Frank lets out a frustrated noise; the doctor is pretending like he doesn’t already know everything Frank’s telling him ( _fucking annoying asshole_ ). Frank stopped playing the game days ago; why can’t he just do the same?

”Mistakes are the most human thing,” Frank says, figuring he’ll have to explain it all, even though the doctor knows. ”But you aren’t making mistakes here. Just systematic failures.”

”Systematic failures,” the doctor repeats, testing the phrase. He doesn’t like the way it sounds, the pinch of guilt it brings. ”Care to explain?”

Frank sighs ( _is he really going to play stupid all day?_ ). ”The people at Greystone wouldn’t be here if their conditions were treatable. We’re here because we’re lost causes. We’ll be kept here until we die, and all you and your staff do is speed up the process. If you think I didn’t know, then you’re obviously mistaken.”

The doctor sits back, touching the fingertips of one hand to the ones of the other. It reminds Frank of something he saw on TV once, but he can’t pinpoint the memory ( _what does it matter anyway?_ ).

”I think you’re the sanest patient I’ve ever had, Mr. Iero,” he says eventually.

Frank snorts. ”What a nice coincidence, since I’m also the only one who isn’t taking his meds.”

”True,” the doctor admits. ”But you’re also breaking the law.”

”The law is stupid,” Frank says, like some stubborn five-year-old. Whatever, if the doctor is going to behave like a child, then Frank might as well do the same. ”It’s written by stupid people without experience, people who don’t know anything about suicide or self-harm or depression, blood-covered walls or vomit-filled toilets.”

The doctor makes a face at the last words, but quickly composes himself. ”I must agree with you on that, Mr. Iero. But that isn’t an excuse for breaking the law.”

”I know it isn’t,” Frank says easily. ”Doesn’t mean I care.”

”You only care about Gerard.” It’s not a question.

Quietly, Frank agrees, without as much a nod. His silence is all that’s needed. Eventually though, he says, ”We haven’t harmed anyone. Not even each other, if that’s what you’re worried about. We don’t plan on it either. So why can’t you just let us be?”

 

§ § §

The doctor never answers Frank. He just asks a nurse to transport him back to his room, making Frank want to correct him, but he keeps quiet. It’s not his room anymore; it’s theirs. Their room, just as it’s their medicine dissolving beneath it and their depression causing it to be prescribed to them.

It’s their pain, their pleasure, their love. Their life.

 

§ § § 

Now in hindsight, Frank remembers; he never answered either.

 

§ § §

”What did he say?” Gerard asks as Frank flings himself onto the bed.

”Nothing,” Frank mumbles.

”What did you say?”

”Nothing.”

”What  _happened_?”

”Nothing.” Frank wraps the sheets tight around him, but it’s not long before Gerard’s arms do the same, which reminds Frank of the bandages. Why hasn’t he taken them off yet? It’s been weeks. Maybe the cuts are deep… But still, they must’ve healed by now.

He sits up, not even glancing at Gerard before he starts unwrapping him ( _the best gift one could ever imagine_ ). He does it as gently as possible, and Gerard holds up his demeanor all the way through, though the last part must hurt. Frank brushes his fingertips over the cuts ( _they look deep_ ), and images of bloody walls reappear in his mind.

”Do they hurt?” he asks. It’s a stupid question; looking like that, the cuts can’t be anything but painful.

”A little,” Gerard replies honestly. ”Not so much right now, though.”

Frank’s brows furrow. ”Why?”

Gerard is quiet for a moment before he says, ”You’re here.”

Frank finally looks up at him, smiling. ”That’s really cheesy.”

Gerard returns his smile. ”I know.”

”It’s also really beautiful.”

Gerard repeats his last statement, his gaze soft and affectionate. ”I know.”

 

§ § §

Frank’s previous life had been painful. Well, he doesn’t know that for sure, but it must have been, right? Or how else could he be this happy?

He’s started to think of him and Gerard as a single entity, and while he knows the pain then becomes larger, he’s realized that so does the happiness.

Everything is magnified. Not only doubled, as one might think, but magnified a thousand times, over and over. Frank doesn’t know why that is, but he knows that’s  _how_  it is.

Sometimes it’s hard to cope with; sometimes you just want to lie down and die. But then there are the times when you feel like you’re flying, high above the clouds without anything to stop you.

And that makes it all worth it.

 

§ § § 

Summer finally arrives, and for the first time since his arrival at Greystone, Frank is let out into the world he sometimes finds himself missing so much it hurts.

He plucks leaves off the bushes, but not for the sake of destruction, like when he was little. Instead all he wants is to feel their structure, the veins and the brittle surface between them. He wants to see the color rub off on his fingers, much like the crayons do when Gerard draws.

Just like they’d done during the winter months, they watch the sunset, but now from a bench in the garden. They do it every single night, because why not? It’s a habit, and the meals are served outside now anyway, and the chilly air is refreshing.

It seems to help all their friends too; Frank refuses to call them patients. Some of them may very well resent him, but it doesn’t take away the fact that they’re all in this together. 

 

§ § § 

Soon the time comes when the revelation has to be made, the door opened, the threshold passed.

But it’s forbidden, of course, and so they stay under the protective blanket that secrecy allows. It’s comforting, but painful all the same.

 

§ § § 

There are hints, at first. Glances and touches, to assure themselves and each other, more than anything else.

The fear is always there though, hiding in the background. The fear of being discovered, revealed; it frightens them both, but it’s far from scaring them off.

They’re both become more and more adventurous, which affects everything. If it’s in a good or bad way is open for discussion, but all that matters it that their fear is soon replaced by the need of adrenaline.

Though kissing in the common room is maybe not the best way to satisfy that need.

 

§ § § 

They both end up in isolation this time. They’re still in the same ward, but in different cells. Or maybe it’s all the same, as usual. Frank can’t really tell the difference anymore. The longer he goes without Gerard’s touch, the greater his insanity and frenzy becomes.

The nurses have redone their schedule, so they aren’t having dinner at the same time anymore. Frank only sees him when Gerard is leaving and Frank is entering, and then it’s only for a few seconds, as the nurses are always quick about taking Gerard back to his room ( _his cell, that’s what it is, just a cell, just like this hospital is a fucking prison_ ).

They’re back to hints and glances, but the touches are still missing. There are never any touches. If he only was that lucky.

 

§ § §

Sometimes a touch is the greatest prize one could ever win.

Sometimes, giving someone a smack in the face with a chair is an even greater one, and that’s where hell breaks loose, because love is love; it can’t be studied, taught or learnt. Only experienced.

And while Frank’s love for Gerard is great, no human can ever surpass his love of fire. 

 

§ § § 

Finally he’s surrounded by the heat, the heat that he’s missed ever since that day, when his fate was sealed. It’s like Gerard’s shoulder, that one day, when they watched the ocean together, or the other, when Gerard first wrapped his hand around Frank’s. It’s like the words on the walls of the room he spent far too little time in.

Not at all like the other room, where he spent too much time, curled into a ball beneath the sheets, scared of the solitude he would have to face should he dare to take a peek above the covers.

Yes, past tense, because reality changes, and he isn’t alone anymore. At least that’s what he believes, and people believe in much stranger things these days, so why not let him have it?

He doesn’t know where he is, but it doesn’t matter to him anymore. All that matters, and all that ever will, is that he isn’t alone, isn’t kept away, not from either of the two things he loves.

He has everything he needs now.

**Author's Note:**

> YAY MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES. NOT.
> 
> Okay, I'm going to explain the ending now, because I know it's confusing as hell.
> 
> So, to explain the ending, I actually have to go back to the start, and tell you all exactly why Frank was committed to Greystone. And the reason is (drumroll): he lit his school on fire. Why? I think you can all figure that out (and if not, then I have one word for you: bullies). So, ever since Frank was a child, he'd loved fire. In the beginning he was satisfied with just lighting candles and campfires, but then came high school, and as a short, arrogant punk kid... well, it wasn't easy, to say the least. Being slammed and shoved into lockers, held down in the toilet, tied to the flagpole, beaten to a bloody pulp... It does things to people, and sometimes, those things end up in kids pouring gasoline over the quarterback of the football team and then throwing a match at them before doing the same to pretty much the every classroom in the school.
> 
> And if you haven't already figured it out: Frank also lit Greystone on fire. He's a psychopath, okay? Cut him some slack; he didn't rip anyone face off with his teeth. Exactly how he managed to do it, I don't really know, but I know that he did it and the whole place burned to the ground. Why, though? For love, of course! And more specifically, for Gerard. After the kiss in the common room, they were both placed in isolation, and were probably never to see each other again. But obviously, Frank couldn't have that. Instead, he lit the place on fire, believing that if he and Gerard couldn't be together in the real world, they would be together in Hell, and now they are.
> 
> I'll explain some lines too, maybe it'll all make more sense then.
> 
>  
> 
> _Finally he’s surrounded by the heat, the heat that he’s missed ever since that day, when his fate was sealed._
> 
>  
> 
>  _The heat_ refers to the fire burning down Greystone, and _that day_ refers to the day he lit his school on fire.
> 
>  
> 
> _All that matters, and all that ever will, is that he isn’t alone, isn’t kept away, not from either of the two things he loves._
> 
>  
> 
>  _The two things he loves_ being fire and Gerard, since he's now with Gerard in Hell, which last time I checked, had lots of fire.


End file.
